


Gambler's Ruin

by pettycoat



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Character Study, Drama, Gen, Kinda?, M/M, Male Friendship, Pre-Kingdom Hearts Chain of Memories, Romance, Some Humor, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4384151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pettycoat/pseuds/pettycoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gambler always falls to ruin, and they're both gambling men. Luxord just has to wonder which one of them has the most to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gambler's Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> Because Luxord is growing on me and Marluxia continues to be ridiculously fun to write. Tagged as both Gen and M/M because I think the nature of their relationship is open to interpretation.
> 
> EDIT: Note that this was written before Union Cross was released, so parts concerning a certain character's backstory are no longer canon compliant. ... Not that I ever expected them to be in the first place, but it was nice to pretend.

He arrives in chains.

They don’t hear the commotion until long after they’ve dragged him into the castle. Luxord sits across from Demyx in the Grey Area, encouraging him to take a bite from his plate with a twist of his hand. In the time since Luxord’s first arrived, an uneasy sort of truce has come to rest unspoken between them. Axel and Saïx are inseparable and unapproachable on the best of days, and the Elders may as well be on another world entirely with how little they interact with the Organization’s lowest-ranking members. Even so, Luxord isn’t one for music and Demyx isn’t one for gambling, so the former is attempting to meet the latter halfway by introducing him to the wonders of blood oranges and toasted bacon sarnies one eventless afternoon. It’s gone fairly well, so far.

“It‘s good,” Demyx says, mouth half-full. “Tangy. I like it better than that sandwich.”

Luxord arches his brow. He didn’t expect him to prefer the orange, but he is a man who lives and dies by surprises. He opens his mouth to reply when a smattering of heavy footsteps behind him cuts him off.

“What in the name of…?” Vexen stops to rest his hand on the window as he looks down into the courtyard. With how quiet he’s been and how little he’s seen outside of his laboratory, Luxord has almost forgotten he was there, and when he rises to follow after him, a shout from the courtyard rips his attention to the window before he even realizes it.

Luxord crosses to the window with Demyx trailing him hesitantly. At first, all he can see is a mass of twitching blackness below. Shadows. Heartless. Hundreds of them. And then they are ripped from the ground and scattered into the air like scores of dark dandelion seeds as a hurricane gust tears through the courtyard with enough force to make the glass rattle. Xaldin is standing in the center of it all with Xigbar at his side, a third figure held securely between them.

Vexen makes a noise beside Luxord as he squints and tries to get a better look at the figure. He cannot tell if it’s male or female, only that it is sagging between II and III with nothing but their arms to support it. It’s dressed in tattered rags and rusted chains, a shock of pale pink hair covering its face as it collapses to its knees in slow motion.

The Heartless mass recovers quickly. It surges across the courtyard like a rolling black tide, heading straight for the trio in the center. Xigbar releases one of the figure’s arms and throws out his hands, and all at once the edges of the mass disappear in a cloud of hissing black smoke. Crushed by their own force of gravity. Luxord can think of few fates more unpleasant.

The mass is almost completely destroyed when Vexen abruptly disappears in a corridor of darkness and reappears beside Xaldin, who doesn’t even flinch. By the time Luxord follows suit and steps into the courtyard a cautious distance away, the two are engaged in a rather animated discussion he doesn’t bother to listen in on.

His gaze falls on the figure, now curled on the ground as a few stragglers tear at its worn body. Xigbar crushes all but one, which he sends flying over the edge of the courtyard with a well-placed kick. He shields a hand over his eyes and gives an awed whistle as it briefly passes over the shine of Kingdom Hearts.

“Ma-a-an!” he says with a laugh, dusting off his shoulders as he turns to face Luxord. He has a few shallow scrapes on his skin but appears to be in much better shape than his pink-haired charge. “ _That_ was an adventure and a half!”

Xaldin makes a noise of disapproval before launching back into his discussion with Vexen.

“They were gonna execute him,” Xigbar says to Luxord, gesturing to the figure. “The Heartless attacked right as they were about to chop his head off. Me and Xaldin are still trying to figure out if he’s the luckiest or _un_ luckiest SOB to ever cross our path.”

“His crime?” Luxord asks calmly.

Xigbar shrugs. “Dunno. Prob'ly somethin' cool.” He turns to look down at the figure, and Luxord can now clearly see that he is indeed male. Despite his pink hair and ragged appearance, his shoulders are broad and strong. “The mob around him was _pissed_. That’s what got our attention in the first place.”

The man stares up at them with exhausted bewilderment. He has weeks of beard growth crawling along his lips and jawline, the same color as his hair and not nearly as ridiculous-looking as it should be. He smells strongly of roses, but beneath that there’s the sharp ripeness of an unwashed body, a drop of poison beneath the brightest flower.

“Where did you find him?” Vexen asks, breaking away from Xaldin to loom over the man.

“Same world I found that dead cat,” Xigbar says with a grin.

If there’s a joke there, Luxord doesn’t catch it, but Vexen’s lingering glare says enough. Vexen drops to one knee, grabbing the man’s chin and twisting his head from side to side in clinical inspection. The man snarls weakly at him, struggling against his bonds, but in the end he collapses panting to the ground, too exhausted to act.

“He stinks,” Vexen says, curling a hand over his nose.

“He’s probably been locked in a dungeon for days,” Xaldin says.

“I meant the flowers,” Vexen says. “He smells like a cheap brothel."

Xigbar snickers. “I guess you would know.”

Vexen sneers. “Shut up.”

The man glares up at them from behind a matted curtain of filthy pink hair. He locks eyes with Luxord for a few stretched seconds before abruptly looking away.

“It smells like the perfume aisle out here,” Demyx says behind them. Luxord doesn’t recall ever hearing him teleport in.

Xaldin looks in his direction with an unreadable expression, the picture of a perfect gentleman as he softly asks: “Would you say it smells like a _prostitute’s_ perfume, IX?”

Demyx blinks heavily, his hesitant “What?” drowned out by a loud _noise_ from Vexen.

Xigbar cuts in with a cackle. “All right, that’s enough. C’mon, rose garden. Time to go meet the boss.” He grabs one of the pink-haired man’s arms, and Xaldin is already reaching for the other. Xigbar leans over to Vexen and whispers not-so-candidly about dirty old men and overdue birthday gifts before quickly teleporting out, a glittering mist of ice left in his wake. Vexen sends a single chilling glare their way and disappears into a rush of shadows.

Demyx blinks so deliberately that it’s almost audible. “So,” he says, drawn-out and cautious, “are we just _not_ gonna talk about the cotton candy hair?”

* * *

“His new name’s Marluxia.”

It’s directed at Saïx, but Xigbar is looking right at Luxord when he makes the announcement. The diviner arches a brow. “How did the Superior manage to get a name from him?” he asks.

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Xigbar leans in as if sharing a devastating secret. “Get this — his element is _flowers_!”

Axel scrunches up his face like he’s expecting a groan-worthy punchline. “Wha…? How does that even _work_?”

“Dunno, but he’s got a giant scythe to go with it, so I guess he thinks he’s the Grim Reaper, too.” Xigbar cackles suddenly, throwing out his hands for a bit of theatrical flair. “Watch out, everyone! Death’s got a tulip and he’s not afraid to use it!”

His guffaws echo across the lounge, and Luxord is the first one he turns to when they finally die down. “Aw, cheer up, limey boy!” He slaps him hard on the shoulder. “Now you don’t have to be the baby of our little club anymore!”

* * *

Days go by. The excitement dies down, and life returns to its usual tedious normality.

Luxord flattens his cards across the table and wonders if there’s any truth to that, distantly aware of Demyx lazily strumming his sitar on the couch behind him. The excitement dies down. Life returns to its usual tedious normality. His lips twitch and he sets out on arranging a chaotic game of Jubilee. In a world comprised of castoffs from other worlds, he wonders just what “life” can mean to its inhabitants, much less creatures who cannot feel excitement or tedium.

The excitement dies down.

Life returns to its usual tedious normality.

He’s so enraptured by his lethargic musings that he fails to notice that the sitar has abruptly gone quiet.

“Uh,” Demyx says, and that’s what causes him to look up.

Marluxia — for it can only be Marluxia. He is clean and well groomed compared to when he saw him last, but that hair is unmistakable — stands silent and still in the doorway. His chains are gone and his face has since known the touch of soap and a razor, but his eyes are just as hard and cold as Luxord remembers them. When he crosses the room on steady feet, Luxord notes that he carries himself like royalty, upright and graceful in his dark coat. He stops at the edge of the table and looms over it with a silence that almost has a physical presence. Well. He certainly isn’t shy.

“Care for a game?” Luxord asks. He’s always looking for a break in the monotony, and some friendly competition just might be the answer to cracking open the enigma that is the Organization’s newest member.

Marluxia says nothing, just stares down at the cards with a calculated tilt of his head.

Luxord mentally shrugs, carrying on. Look at that. A matching suit already. He flips the stack into his palm and absentmindedly rolls it up his sleeve until it’s disappeared completely.

Marluxia makes a noise at that, a chuckle that sounds as if it’s been punched out of him. “ _Legerdemain_ ,” he says.

Luxord pauses for a heartbeat. Truth be told, he hadn't been expecting a voice _that_ deep.

“I see you are a man who appreciates a dying artform,” Luxord says with a small smile. He plucks up a card and rolls it back and forth between his hands, leaving it spinning in the air as he grabs two more cards and sends them twirling between his fingers. “Where I come from, we call it prestidigitation.” He grabs the floating card and juggles it over his nails. “Or, if you prefer…” The cards disappear up his right cuff, and a short cascade of small gold coins spills onto the table from his left. “... Sleight of hand.”

Marluxia quirks a brow, but says nothing. Instead he plucks up a coin and gracefully rolls it across each knuckle until it's tucked halfway between his ring and little finger. Another second, and it's back in the webbing of his thumb. He twirls his wrist and produces a long-stemmed rose with a flourish as the coin disappears into his folded palm.

"A fellow man of spectacle," Luxord says with something close to genuine admiration.

"It is a passing interest and nothing more," Marluxia says, but there's a decidedly _smug_ curl to his lips as he dismisses the rose in a flash of shredded petals.

“Know any games yourself?” Luxord says as he gathers up his cards and coins with a few smooth swipes of his hands, trying again.

Marluxia just gives him a smile. A rather unpleasant one. Somewhere behind him, Demyx’s sitar makes an alarmed twang. “None _you_ would know, I’m sure.” And then he turns on his heel, disappearing in a rush of darkness.

“Y’know,” Demyx says after a pause, sounding a little breathless, “I don’t think I like the new guy.”

* * *

He reappears at the side of his table three days later, and Luxord is strangely grateful. He’s tired of winning the same games. Experience has taught him that life gets dull quickly when the odds are always tilted in his favor.

“Have you,” Marluxia breathes, cocking his head and plucking the King of Hearts from Luxord’s upturned fingers, “ever played _La Belle Lucie_?”

Luxord is game.

* * *

Luxord always keeps a card or two up his sleeve, just for safekeeping, and it doesn’t take him long at all to determine that Marluxia isn’t exactly a paragon of honesty himself. Oh, he knows the man likes his secrets, but never before has he encountered another so bold as to try to swindle him from an arm’s length away, much less one competent enough to occasionally get away with it. And he does it all with a beatific smile, the picture of princely elegance as he spins lies in his silence.

Luxord welcomes his dishonesty, relishes in it. It keeps the games interesting. Eventually, their little meetings become open strategies of deceit, their goals not to best each other through fair play, but to win without getting caught as they wordlessly measure the other from behind fans of diamonds and spades.

“He uses flowers,” Zexion drones to him one day as they wait for the water to boil for tea. “Different scents for different cards. I could almost smell it from across the city.”

Luxord pauses mid-chew before swallowing what’s left of his licorice stick. Despite their sharing a kettle nearly every day since he was first inducted, this is the most he’s heard out of the boy in months. “Are you certain?”

Zexion narrows his eyes as if offended. “I know smells. Marluxia is drenched in them. Simply walking past him is a struggle most days.” The boy shifts, casually flipping through his lexicon. “He masks his deceit with his natural scent.”

Luxord blinks. “Did you happen to catch which flower he used for each card?”

Zexion sneers. “Only one. The King of Hearts smells like roses.”

Luxord spends his afternoon holding his playing cards to his nose and trying to ignore how ridiculous it all feels. The scents are weak, subtle enough that he probably wouldn’t notice them without Zexion’s little act of sabotage, but they _are_ there. He recognizes some of the more common smells after a few minutes of vigorous sniffing, an act that quickly earns him a lingering stare from Saïx, but many of the scents are lost on him, most too similar for him to readily differentiate.

He goes to their usual spot that evening and sets down his cards, fanning them out in a smooth circle. He considers drenching them in a stronger scent, considers asking Zexion to lend his powers and switch the faces of the cards — heart knows the boy wouldn’t hesitate to assist if it meant besting Marluxia — but decides against it. The game is no longer centered around fighting dishonesty with dishonesty, not for him at least, but around catching Marluxia in the act. Now that he knows one of his tricks, the game has become predictable.

Like clockwork, Marluxia arrives on the hour, and Luxord vaguely recalls the strange period between when the Organization originally discovered him and when he was officially inducted as its Gambler of Fate. They drilled many concepts into him then — they have no hearts, they have no emotions, they must follow the Superior to reclaim their hearts and emotions — but none stuck with him quite so well as the thought that Nobodies are creatures of habit, husks built around the memories and rituals of a heart long gone. Luxord sets his jaw.

“I trust you had a pleasant meal?” he says.

“Quite,” Marluxia says with disgust that is almost palpable. “Who needs food fresh from a garden when we have so many processed meals in the castle larder?” He pulls out his chair, sits, and slides closer to the table in a single fluid motion. “Cribbage or Nertz?”

Luxord dutifully flips a coin. “Cribbage.” He summons a Gambler to deal with a snap of his fingers. “But first, I would like to propose an amendment to the rules.”

Marluxia arches a brow, his thin smile never faltering. “Oh?”

Luxord lays his palms over the circle of cards until his thumbs are flush and his fingers are perfectly straight. He abruptly throws them out and the cards move with him, flipping onto their backs in a synchronized wave. “The King of Hearts,” he says, picking up the aforementioned card from the head of the circle. “Rather thematically appropriate, no?” He twirls it across his fingers, holding a corner between his thumb and index finger before tucking his wrist and swallowing it up with his sleeve. He snaps his other wrist and suddenly it’s there, resting in his palm. “But I don’t believe the smell of roses does it justice. Perhaps you should have used lavender or wisteria instead? Purple has always struck me as a regal color.”

Marluxia says nothing, adjusts his chair like he doesn’t even hear him, but when their gaze meets, the shine in his eyes veils danger.

“New rule,” Luxord says, and the King of Hearts disappears in a wisp of smoke. The remainder of the deck twitches under his outstretched hand, and when he passes his fingers over the cards, they roll once again until they are resting on their faces. “We play with a new deck every night.” He reaches for one of the cards at random and pulls it away to reveal the replacement King of Hearts. “I trust you have no objections?”

Marluxia chuckles lowly, a sound that makes the Gambler Nobody pause beside them. “I abstain.”

“Close enough. Let’s play cards.”

* * *

"You're not like the others," Marluxia says to him out of the blue a few weeks later. They're playing seven-card poker. Marluxia's winning. Unlike previous games, Luxord thinks this is mostly a product of his skills, rather than his tricks. Mostly. In a game built around deception, he supposes his comrade would naturally have the upper hand. It’s almost funny. In a world inhabited by naught but emotionless beings, Marluxia is the first one he’s met who can keep a consistent poker face.

Luxord considers his cards. "How so?" is all he asks.

"You don't pretend to be someone you're not." There's a small hum on his lips as his gaze flickers across the cards on the table.

Luxord quirks a brow, vaguely recalling a time when he read that people most admire traits they wish they had themselves. “We’re Nobodies. Can we truly act like anything other than ourselves?”

Marluxia’s grin is sharp and bright. “Why don’t you ask your leader?”

* * *

Marluxia is unusually quiet for the next few games. His usual artificial smile becomes a rare sight as he balances cards or rolls pairs of dice, his cold eyes hidden beneath brows kept too still to be a natural extension of expression. Luxord only ever questions it in his mind, initially mistaking it for pensiveness. He doesn't realize how wrong he is until he happens to look away from a rather slow-going game of chess one abnormally warm afternoon.

Saïx is watching.

Luxord blinks. Saïx sits on a couch on the opposite side of the lounge, perfectly still and expressionless. He doesn’t react when Luxord sends a courteous nod his way.

“Your move,” Marluxia says. His eyes bore into Luxord’s when the latter twists to face him, his fingers interlocked beneath his nose.

“You’ve left yourself wide open,” Luxord says after a cursory glance at the board.

Marluxia just stares at him. “Have I?”

* * *

“Heads up, posey!”

Marluxia is a man who always carries himself with dignity, but even the most poised of men would have some difficulty maintaining their grace after being knocked face-first into a backgammon board by a flying apple.

“Good morning, Xigbar,” Luxord says, face kept carefully blank as Marluxia snarls something unsavory and claws bits of rotten fruit from the back of his head.

Xigbar cackles from his spot on the ceiling, arm still outstretched. “Beaned you good, didn’t I? Might have to check your nose for splinters!”

Marluxia glares up at him with a look that could melt steel, teeth still bared.

“Careful,” Xigbar says with a wag of his finger. “Your pretty face might get stuck like that.”

“ _Why_ ,” Marluxia spits, “have you suddenly taken to throwing rotten fruit?”

“Just keepin’ you humble. Now that you’re not the lowest-ranking member in our little organization, I didn’t want the power trip to go to your head.”

Luxord’s brows shoot up. “We’ve added another to our ranks?”

“Nothing flies past you, Captain Obvious.” Xigbar scratches idly at his cheek. “Don’t get too close. She bites.”

* * *

“Dream on, pansy,” Larxene shouts from across the room.

Marluxia blinks over his cards before his eyes flick back to the table, daring Luxord to speak with nothing more than a passing glance.

“True gentlemen never stare,” Luxord says anyway.

Marluxia’s eyes narrow. “She is weak. Nothing more than a plaything to be broken.”

* * *

“Perhaps she is stronger than I initially surmised,” Marluxia says at their next game, hair partially singed and smelling overwhelmingly of ozone.

* * *

Despite their less-than-ideal first encounter, XI and XII gradually grow closer over the coming weeks. By the time the cold cloak of winter passes over Twilight Town, they are regarded as a two-headed entity in the same way the Elders speak of Lexaeus and Zexion. Marluxia doesn’t talk about it and Luxord doesn’t pry.

“Who do you think tops?” Xigbar asks him one day.

Luxord blinks over his teacup. “Beg pardon?”

Xigbar points to Larxene and Marluxia with his chin as they chat over a meal in the distance. “No one gets that close to the Savage Nymph unless they’re getting _something_ out of it, and there’s no way she’s taking it lying down. I thought you might know, seeing as you two are best buddies and all.” He shrugs. “Some guys just get off on that kind of stuff, I guess.” He fishes a rubber band out of his pocket and fires it at the back of Vexen’s head. “Looks like I owe Xaldin 200 munny. I could’ve _sworn_ he was... y'know... _funny_.”

Luxord just sips his tea and doesn't say a word.

* * *

Saïx is back. And he’s brought Axel.

He’s closer than he was last time, staring fixedly at them from a couch in the middle of the room. Axel sits next to him, occasionally sparking small fires in the center of his palm as he pretends to read a book that’s been open on the same page for the past five minutes.

“Your turn,” Marluxia murmurs, passing him the dice cup with grace too flawless and calculated to be natural.

Luxord rolls and clicks a checker on the backgammon board as Marluxia takes the cup back. He turns to face Saïx directly and gives him a small, polite smile.

The diviner blinks, as if unsure of how he should react. Luxord is almost certain it’s the first time he’s ever seen him close his eyes. And then he grins right back, baring his teeth in a shining rictus. Axel twists with visible discomfort.

“Your turn,” Marluxia says softly.

* * *

When their thirteenth member arrives, the whole castle knows in the space of ten minutes.

Luxord likes the boy well enough. Polite and inquisitive, if a bit of a slow learner. In many ways, he reminds him of Demyx — if IX were slightly less gluttonous and considerably more proactive, of course.

Marluxia’s stares don’t go unnoticed. There’s a shine in his eyes that couldn’t make his thoughts any more obvious, and Luxord has to bite his cheek to stop himself from asking if the man is truly _that_ much of a slave to his own lust for power or if he simply has a strong preference for blondes.

“The power to close and open entire worlds, to close and open hearts, all at the tips of his fingers,” Marluxia murmurs one evening over a game of gin rummy. The lounge is empty except for them, so he’s a touch chattier than usual.

Luxord slowly looks up from his cards. “A smart gambler never betrays his bets before he makes them.” He stares down at the discard pile as Marluxia’s gaze snaps to him. “Four points?”

Marluxia’s eyes flash, his mind everywhere else but the game. Luxord begins to think he’s taken the hint and opted to keep his mouth shut when his lips abruptly part with a sharp hiss of breath.

“Is it truly gambling,” he whispers, “if I have no other options?”

* * *

“It’s just all so _sudden_ ,” Marluxia says a few days later, hiding his suspicion behind a sugary smile. Luxord isn’t sure why he chooses to conceal it, considering they are alone again. “Just like that, they gift me with a castle.”

Luxord shuffles the deck without having to look at it, throwing down the first few cards. “Is that not what you’ve wanted all along?”

Marluxia’s eyes narrow, but it doesn’t seem to be in anger or even an imitation of anger. Rather, it seems like he’s focusing his thoughts until there’s nothing left but them, the table, the cards. “My first castle was stolen from me,” he says eventually, his gaze distant. “Then,” he indicates their surroundings with an elegant twist of his hand, “I was imprisoned in one.” His fingers slide together under his chin as he coolly considers the ceiling. “Now they tell me I can lord over an empty shell of a world that was never meant to exist in the first place. Forgive me for not blindly trusting that your Elders have my best interests at heart.” He reaches down to gather six cards, fanning them out and tapping them twice against his lips. “I wonder,” he says with a forced tilt of his mouth as he stares sidelong at Kingdom Hearts, “if I can truthfully call Castle Oblivion my own when they’ve gone so far as to rob me of my very name?”

Luxord chews his lip in contemplation as he finishes splitting the deck with expert flicks of his wrists and considers another tactic. “Marluxia,” he says, and it’s enough to snap the man’s attention right back to him. “Truthfully, do you want your heart back?”

Something lights in Marluxia’s eyes almost like a switch has been flipped inside him. Luxord isn’t sure how he should read it. “I’m not sure,” he murmurs at last, and Luxord thinks it has to be the only honest answer he’s ever given him.

“I see,” he says, only because he’s uncertain of what else to say.

“And you?” Marluxia asks, and Luxord suddenly feels grounded again as they slip back into a familiar routine. He’s long since learned that when Marluxia is presented with a question that makes him uncomfortable, he will always try to flip it back on the one who’s asking.

“Yes.” He answers without hesitation.

“And you are certain that the Organization will help you reclaim it?” Marluxia looks at him as if he’s trying to unravel him like a ball of yarn.

“I’m a gambler. I can’t be certain of anything.”

“Yet you remain loyal.” Marluxia’s testing him, his face veiled behind interlocked fingers until there’s nothing left but his unflinching stare.

Luxord takes his time to answer. “Certainty is a double-edged sword for gamblers. Knowing whether you’ll win or lose obviously has its benefits, but it leaves no room for excitement. When I flip a coin or roll a die, I do so not because I expect to win, but because I wish to see what fate has in store for me.” He taps his knuckles against the table. “I can only hope the odds are kind to me.”

Marluxia stares at him in silence for quite some time and he stares right back. “I only play to win,” Marluxia says eventually, and Luxord abruptly realizes that this is really all their games are now, a chance to talk their way through unsavory topics when every shadow could hide a listening ear.

Luxord decides to mirror his stance and laces his fingers in front of his mouth, feeling bold. “Is that what your Other thought when they had his neck in the guillotine?”

Truth be told, he doesn't know what to expect of Marluxia's reaction. It still catches him off-guard when Marluxia slowly rises to his feet, his chair squeaking on the marble.

“There,” Marluxia says sharply, “is no future left for us in this castle.” He straightens his back. “And if I do not fight, I will have no future in Castle Oblivion.”

Luxord stares intently at him. “A smart player knows the right time to bluff. A smarter player knows the right time to fold.” He leans forward. “If you go to Castle Oblivion expecting to win, I can promise that Lady Luck will not look kindly on you.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Marluxia slips into his grin like most would a mask, a flash of teeth that makes Luxord think of blood oranges — bitter and sweet and lingering. “And _that_ would be most unfortunate.” He cocks his head, his smile softening. “But I suppose you’re right. There is a time and place for surrender.” He releases his cards purposefully and takes a graceful step back. “I forfeit.” And then he turns on his heels and walks out of the room.

Luxord watches him go, doesn’t bother stopping him. He never hears the telltale rush of shadows from a corridor of darkness, only the slow, echoing footsteps of a man snared in his own thoughts. It is some time before he gathers up his cards and teleports out.

* * *

Luxord doesn’t see him the next night, or the next, or the next. He doesn’t expect to. For all his regal pride, Marluxia has always struck him as a bit of a petty sulker when things don’t turn out the way he expects. That makes it all the more surprising when a familiar silhouette falls over his table the night before Marluxia is scheduled to leave for Oblivion.

“Coin flips,” Marluxia says, lips curled back. “How very _plain_.”

Luxord’s gaze lingers on him for some time before he turns back to his game. “A test of fate is never plain.” He flicks a coin into the air and catches it just as Marluxia moves to pull out the chair across from him. He looks up into his eyes. “Are you prepared for your trip?”

Marluxia considers him coolly. “As much as I will be.” He glances at Demyx, sprawled out in the corner of the lounge, before settling into his chair.

Luxord goes on with his game, waiting for the man to speak. He has a hunch that it’s all he came here to do.

“I find it odd that you’re a gambler who believes in fate,” Marluxia says eventually.

The coin lands on heads. Luxord adds to his winnings. “How so?”

He expects a smirk, a condescending chuckle, but Marluxia just stares at him in silent contemplation. He’s even slouching back in his chair. Luxord watches him out of the corner of his eye before gradually realizing that _this_ is what the man looks like without his forced poise and artificial grace. He pauses for a moment before flipping the next coin. Tails. He adds to the losing pile.

“You said it yourself,” Marluxia says. “Certainty is a double-edged sword. Why gamble if you know that you’re fated to win or lose one way or the other?”

Luxord clicks his teeth. “It is the nature of luck. A window of opportunity can snap shut in a heartbeat. It is up to the gambler to shape his fate and jump on that chance while it is still available.”

“So you somehow believe in both luck and fate.” Marluxia looks unconvinced.

Luxord catches a coin and idly twirls it across his fingers. “Marluxia,” he says. “Are you aware of the concept known as Gambler’s Ruin?”

“... No.”

Luxord wonders how difficult it was for him to admit that. “It is a controversial statistical phenomenon that says, among other things, that a dedicated gambler is always fated to fall to ruin.”

Marluxia stares with something close to disgust. “You sound like Vexen.”

Luxord pinches the coin between his thumb and index finger. “Numbers never lie. Let’s say, hypothetically, that I win a munny each time this coin falls on heads and lose a munny each time it falls on tails. What do you think will happen with time?”

Marluxia blinks. “You are just as likely to land on heads as you are to land on tails, so you would be just as likely to win or lose.”

Luxord tosses the coin into the air, catches it in his palm. “Incorrect. Casinos would never make a profit with those odds.” He tucks the coin into his palm and balances his chin on his knuckles. “Play long enough, and you will _always_ walk away with less.”

Marluxia stares at him for some time, saying nothing, doing nothing, before he abruptly leans forward until his shadow stretches across the table. “If you truly believe that,” he murmurs, “then why gamble at all?”

Luxord stares back. “I know when to walk away.”

“... You’re convinced that I don’t.” He’s challenging him again.

“Luck arrives in streaks,” Luxord says. “You said it yourself when you were appointed Lord of Castle Oblivion, though perhaps not in such certain terms. Weeks of humdrum monotony, and then all at once you were gifted with winnings beyond your wildest dreams: a castle, a title, an army of loyal subjects—”

Marluxia scoffs at that. Luxord continues without a second’s pause.

“—and freedom.” Luxord holds his gaze. “You will finally be free of The World That Never Was. Is that not what you’ve wanted all along?”

“You know nothing of freedom,” Marluxia spits, almost like it’s hurting him. “You’re just as much of a prisoner in this horrible place as I am.”

Luxord is not a man who yells. It just isn’t something proper gentlemen do, much less gamblers whose skills revolve around twisting the odds until they get what they want.

So instead of resorting to such shameful behavior, he leans forward and gallantly smacks Marluxia in the face. Hardly proper, but it causes Marluxia to widen his eyes just a fraction, and if _this_ is what it takes to draw a proper reaction out of the man, so be it.

“Are you as thick as the walls of Oblivion?” Luxord asks. “Because you’re certainly acting like it. Step back and listen to what you’re saying.”

Marluxia just stares at him with his lips slightly parted. Almost comical, that. Luxord goes back to his game when he grows tired of the melodramatic silence.

The man recovers, gradually. “Did you just _hit_ me?” he forces through his teeth.

“You’re only proving my point about Oblivion’s walls,” Luxord says, tossing a coin like he isn’t desperate to know what Marluxia’s face looks like right now.

Marluxia snaps his arm out and catches the coin mid-air, slapping it down on the table with a scowl. “I know what I said, and I stand by it. Xemnas does _not_ deserve to be the Superior, and you _know_ it.”

Luxord’s mind races as he nearly blurts out that the walls have ears and that the man is just being _careless_ now, but his thoughts screech to a halt when Marluxia stiffly produces a card from the sleeves of his coat. A square with three points on the top, almost like a crown. His mouth goes dry when he sees the familiar silhouette on its face.

“You long for your homeworld,” Marluxia breathes, “don’t you?” He presses the card into Luxord’s palm when he doesn’t take it, eyes shining as Luxord brushes his fingertips across its surface without immediately realizing it. “The Heartless destroyed it. The Heartless _they_ created destroyed it.”

Marluxia’s eyes have taken on a decidedly _insane_ glint when Luxord eventually lifts his head, his fingers still ghosting along the edges of the card with near-reverent care. “How did you…?”

Marluxia cuts in to fill the silence. “Castle Oblivion thrives on memories. It is an empty shell until you decide to make it otherwise. Your world can exist there. Your _home_ can exist there.” He gestures sharply to the card. “All you have to do is activate _that_.”

Luxord stares, truly at a loss for words.

Marluxia tries again, throwing back his shoulders and straightening in a show of forced poise. A manipulator at heart, even in the rare moments he doesn't mean to be. “We use cards, Luxord. We use them for everything. You would be happy there.” He leans forward, the crazed light in his eyes brightening. “You would be at _home_.”

Luxord swallows thickly, tries to speak, can’t. He buries his fingers in his hairline and forces out a breath. “I can’t.”

Marluxia flinches as if struck. “Why?”

Luxord glances up at him, feeling like he’s drowning. “Because I know when to walk away."

Something seems to click in Marluxia’s castle-thick skull. He falls back, _wilts_ , gracefully, so gracefully. The crazed glint goes out of his eyes until there’s nothing left but nothing. He rises to his feet, coldly proper, and pushes in his chair. Luxord expects that to be the end of things, for him to go without saying goodbye, but now, even now, the man has ways of surprising him.

Marluxia snaps his wrist dramatically. Something flashes across his knuckles. It takes Luxord a moment to recognize the coin Marluxia snatched from him the night they first properly introduced themselves. It dances across his fingers in perfect circles, and when Marluxia pulls a bright red rose from his sleeve and stiffly sets it on the table between Luxord’s elbows, the coin is sent rocketing across the floor. He can forgive the man for his flamboyant gestures. He, after all, is all too familiar with the importance of spectacle.

“Your time is limited here,” Marluxia says, distant, floating.

Luxord blinks slowly. “I have all the time in the world.”

Marluxia clenches his jaw, presses his lips together until they’re white and bloodless, and just like that, he’s gone. Luxord stares at the space where he had been standing seconds before, watches the petals flutter to the floor.

“... Uh, should I _leave_?” Demyx asks from across the room. Luxord hardly hears him. His eyes fall to the rose. He takes it gingerly, mindful of the thorns. Even with care, it will decay very soon.

Luxord drops the rose and hides his head in his hands for what feels like the rest of the night.

* * *

The news comes to him on a pleasantly warm afternoon. He doesn’t allow himself to react when Xigbar screams it to the whole castle. He doesn’t allow himself to react when he finally finds himself alone in his room later that night, staring up at the ceiling like it holds all the answers. He doesn’t allow himself to react when Saïx walks up to his table the next morning, a cruel smile sitting just beyond the edges of his usual mask of stoicism.

“He was a traitor,” Saïx says. “And he died a traitor’s death. How can we be so certain that you were not involved?”

Luxord calmly sips his tea. “I knew nothing of his intentions.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“That is most unfortunate. As far as I knew, the man was occasionally a good card player. Nothing more.”

Saïx makes a noise that almost sounds like a scoff, but he does teleport away. When the room begins to feel warm again, Luxord clumsily snaps his wrist and produces the coin. It had been a bit of a challenge to locate it after Marluxia had sent it flying across the floor all those weeks ago, but the effort expended just makes him hold onto it all the tighter.

Marluxia had said his days were numbered if he stayed here. Staring down at the coin, Luxord finds himself wondering if he'd been correct. Luxord had thought he’d be safe, had thought his loyalty would protect him, but what good is loyalty when those you are loyal to suspect you of the worst?

Luxord leans back in his chair, studies the ceiling. It is some time before he sets his hands back on the table and sends the coin spinning.

He waits.

He watches.

He gambles.

When the coin falls and decides his fate, he finds himself automatically looking to the empty chair across from him. There's a crack in the padding that has somehow avoided his attention until now. Dust is beginning to settle on the armrests.

The excitement dies down.

Life returns to its usual tedious normality.

Luxord laces his fingers across his mouth and slowly closes his eyes.


End file.
